A Russian refugee, who fled Vladimir Putin’s regime and is now living as an asylum-seeker in Darlington, has spoken out passionately in opposition to his country’s invasion of Ukraine. PETER BARRON reports

RAMAZAN Paizov sips his coffee in a peaceful corner of an English market town and says calmly: “I want everyone to know that war isn’t what Russian people want – this is not in our name.”

It’s two years since the lawyer arrived in Darlington, having fled from the police in his home city of St Petersburg. His crime? Peacefully protesting against the Putin regime.

Now, following the invasion of Ukraine, he has chosen to tell his story and speak out in opposition to the escalating conflict.

“Darlington people have been kind to me, and I want them to know that Putin does not represent Russians. We are sad and angry too.”

Ramazan, 31, is impeccably polite and – despite not having a job – insists on trying to pay for the coffee when we meet in a café off Darlington’s market square. But these are anxious days as he waits for news on whether he can stay in the UK.

“I miss my family, of course, but if I am sent back…”

He puffs out his cheeks and doesn’t complete the sentence because returning to the city where he has already been arrested several times is unthinkable.

Ramazan was targeted by the police after he joined the opposition party, Yabloko, and took part in protests. He was also a member of the St Petersburg Election Commission, campaigning for fairer elections.

“I saw with my own eyes how elections were falsified – Putin is not the real President,” he declares.

“I was arrested maybe 15 times and put in a cell, sometimes for two or three hours, sometimes a whole day. They put pressure on me to work for them.”

The last time he was arrested, the police gave him a sinister warning. He was told to either stop protesting or his passport might be found to be fake – and then he would go to prison “for a long time”.

Soon afterwards, the police raided his parents' house at 6am, looking for him, and removing personal documents. Luckily, Ramazan was staying at his girlfriend’s house.

“My father called to say I had to get out as fast as possible, so I bought a ticket and flew to England,” he recalls.

He landed at Luton Airport on October 13, 2019, claimed asylum, and was taken to a detention centre. Five days later, he was transported to Leeds before being brought to Darlington in January 2020.

He now lives in a shared house as he awaits the decision on whether he can stay.

In the meantime, he has received a chilling message from the Russian police, via Instagram, saying: “We’ll be waiting for you.”

“The situation is much worse now – it would be very, very dangerous to go back,” he says.

As well as speaking every day to his parents and brother in St Petersburg, Ramazan has also been in touch with relatives in Ukraine.

“They have tried to get out of Kyiv and hide because of the Russian bombing.

“We didn’t expect this so quickly. We knew Putin was mad but not this mad.

“I barely slept after seeing the thousands protesting in St Petersburg because my friends would be among them. They are so brave.”

Ramazan is calling on the free world to intensify sanctions, and to send arms to Ukraine.

“Putin won’t stop. He will invade other countries. He has to be stopped and, in the end, only the Russian people can bring about change.”

Ramazan had the option of remaining anonymous but declined, saying: “I am not afraid. I want to publicly apologise to Ukraine and say that Putin is not Russia and Russia is not Putin.”

His biggest wish is to return one day to a different Russia but, for now, he is making the best of his new life in Darlington. He is “forever grateful” for the support of the Darlington Assistance For Refugees charity, and has made friends through the Darlington Table Tennis Club.

“Hopefully, I will get my papers soon, so I can get a job and pay tax,” he says. “Then, one day, I dream of seeing my home again.”

As the war rages two thousand miles away, it is an increasingly distant dream.

FORMER Northern Echo editor David Kernek, who has died from cancer at the age of 74, was the child of a refugee.

In 1939, his 19-year-old mother, Greta, fled from Linz, in Austria, with a small child to avoid the Holocaust and made her way to London.

Penniless, she was employed as a housekeeper and given a place to live by a man who made her pregnant. David was that child. He was put up for adoption, and lived under the surname Flintham.

He didn’t meet his birth mother for 45 years and, when he did, he began using the family name of Kernek.

David became editor of The Northern Echo in 1993 and it was my privilege to be his deputy. Above all else, I’ll remember him as one of the best writers I ever worked with. He had the highest standards when it came to the use of English and never wasted a word.

He taught me a great deal, principally about the art of ‘leader writing’ – the daily task of giving The Great Daily of the North an opinion about whatever was happening in the world.

He also instilled in me the importance of always giving the readers the courtesy of a reply if they took the time to write, whether in praise or to complain.

He was a lovely man and a very fine journalist.

The Northern Echo:

I KNOW David wouldn’t mind me finishing with the story about how we first met because we often smiled about it over the years. It was painful for him and embarrassing for me…

We’d both been seconded to the launch of a national news agency, called UK News, in Leicester. David was editor of The York Press at the time but it had been announced that he was to become editor of The Northern Echo.

One evening, after work in Leicester, I was having a swim in the hotel and spotted him at the other end of the pool. I decided I should breast-stroke over to introduce myself to my new boss.

We had a nice, friendly chat and he asked if I’d mind if he borrowed my goggles so he could do a few extra lengths.

“Of course not, David,” I replied.

However, as I pulled them over my head, the elastic snapped, and the goggles catapulted into David’s right eye.

I apologised profusely and David was typically polite, but I still squirm at the memory of seeing him with a blood-shot eye at breakfast the next morning.

Rest in peace, David.